Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/45

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TROOPS to our England true
 Faring to Flanders,
God be with all of you
 And your commanders.

Clear be the sky o'erhead,
 Light be the landing:
Not till the work is sped
 Be your disbanding.

On the old battle-ground
 Where fought your fathers,
Faithful shall ye be found
 When the storm gathers.

Fending a little friend
 Weak but unshaken—
Quick! there's no time to spend
 Or the fort's taken.

Though he defy his foes,
 He may go under.
Quick! ere the battle close
 Speed with your thunder.

He hath his all at stake:
 More can have no man.
Quick! ere the barrier break,
 On to the foeman.

Troops to this England true
 And your commanders,
God be with all of you
 Fighting in Flanders.